The Rise and Fall of the Dork Lord
by Reganfan
Summary: Can Cool Cat Harry find a way to save the Wizarding World from the Dork Lord?


Cornelius Fudge edged over to the figure hunched over twenty some-odd books. He fingered the knuts in his pocket as he sidled up to the boy's shoulder.

Coke bottle thick glasses were perched on the fifth year's nose as he scribbled on his parchment furiously. There was tape wound around the bridge of the glasses. A green and silver bow tie and a pocket protector filled with quills of all sizes completed the stereotypical dork fashion.

"Ten knuts, Fudge. Your parchment is tucked under the DADA text," the dork muttered in a nasally voice.

"And you say it'll get me top marks?"

"I would have thought you would know not to question me," the dork glared at the older boy.

"Sure thing, Riddle, sure thing. Here's your payment." Cornelius dropped the knuts, grabbed the parchment and hurried off to do more important things.

Tom Riddle, dork extraordinaire, tucked Fudge's payment in with all the others. His coin pouch bulged with knuts, sickles, and galleons. A twisted smile curved his lips. _The dorks shall inherit the Earth._ He chuckled inwardly and turned back to his current paper. Crouch would be by anytime for it.

*****

"If I can't rule the whole of the wizarding world, then I will spell everyone into dorks and I will be the TOP DORK!" The Dork Lord Voldemort squealed in his nasal tone at his Dorkeaters.

All of the Dork Lord's followers cringed. They knew he meant business. They knew that Voldemort was determined to get rid of 'Pain-in-the-neck Potter". The "Boy Who Lived" that destroyed the Dork Lord when he was a mere 18 months old. The boy that the prophecy foretold would annihilate Voldemort with his laid-back, cool attitude.

*****

Harry Potter was slouching as he contemplated what he should wear that day. He finally decided on jeans, white T-shirt, black leather jacket, and black work boots. _I look like a cross between James Dean, Fonzie, and Johnny Depp. Good_, he thought to himself.

As he showered, his thoughts turned to ideas on how to defeat the Dork Lord and save cool people everywhere. He looked at the coolness factors of his fashion icons. James Dean was a total rebel and smoked. Strange how smoking back then was considered rebellious. Fonzie was too cool to care what others thought of him and often went his own way. Johnny Depp smoked and fell for a debutante in Cry-Baby. He also had a band and those Cry-Baby girls and a pregnant sister.

_I can't do anything about the pregnant sister, but maybe I could find a former underage porn star to be a Harry's girl?_ He considered finding a girl that looked like Traci Lords; Traci having gotten her start as an underage porn star. _Nah,_ he considered. It would probably be easier to take up smoking and cheaper to buy a lifetime supply at the current prices.

Harry rolled his eyes at his own sarcastic humor. As for Fonzie's ways, he was already too cool to care what anyone thought of him. And he always went his own way. _Hmmm...that leaves me with James Dean_, he told himself. He nodded decisively. That would be easy enough. All he had to do was rebel against the Dork Lord. The best part of that plan was that it involved simply being himself. After all, he was cool, the furthest thing from a dork that was possible.

*****

Harry wandered into Madame Malkim's while he was at Diagon Alley for school supplies. He wanted to see if they had any leather cloaks. He casually leaned against the counter when he heard a nasally voice screeching.

"Why don't you carry high water robes? I demand to know what's wrong with them!"

There was a softer voice trying to sooth the irate customer.

"I will never come in here again unless you find one of your tailors to alter some robes for me!"

Harry couldn't stop laughing when he saw the owner of the irate nasal tone.

"What are you laughing at?!" Voldemort demanded.

"High waters? I knew you were a dork, but high waters?"

"There is nothing wrong with them!"

"Of course not, Voldedork." Harry sassed, but even as he spoke, he was looking through a rack of slacks. He eyed Voldemort closely then handed him a pair.

"I know you don't like me, but trust me on this… try these on."

Voldemort glared, but draped them over his arm as he followed Harry around the store. Harry chose shirt after shirt, pants after pants, robes after robes then led the Dork Lord to the dressing rooms.

Grudgingly, Voldemort tried on every last article of clothing that Harry handed to him. It took hours to go through it all, but in the end, he came out in black slacks, a blood red (that matched his eyes) silk shirt, and dark floor length robes.

"Not bad, Potter, not bad," he said, his nasal voice not as high pitched as it had been.

"I told you. Now suck on this," he handed the not so Dork Lord a lozenge.

"Chocolate?" Voldemort hummed, his voice an octave deeper, enjoying his candy.

"Now, you've got the clothes, you've got the voice… We have to work on the rest," Harry put his hand at the small of Voldemort's back and led him out of the shop. Voldemort side long apparated Harry to his lair where Harry spent hours and days and weeks, until it was time to go to Kings Cross Station, giving the Dork Lord "cool lessons".

Harry returned to Hogwarts, satisfied that he had vanquished the Dork Lord forever, and now had a cool friend in his place.


End file.
